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Monday, 17 October 2011

Salt away my sorrow
Till I forget the past completely,
I don't remember the love
The lived or you,
But pains still burrows
Unloading empty casket.
To be free of you
Would to be free from myself,
My movement as placid in this dim place
Is still more than I ever dared venture.
I am lost, lonely and in love again,
Life stuck on the conveyor belt
Waiting to extend to new roads.
How do I defeat the old with the new
When opportunity rushes ahead?

I dream of ease rather than fortune,
Of accomplishment rather than gain,
And as I often dither
I gaze upon my running shoes,
That time of year again,
To pick up, start off and train
For the new game,
And give myself a head start.

Will I bare the snow as well,
As when last winter fell?
Will I steam through dusk
To find springs of day,
Will the branches bare
To travel me a new way.

Okay, this is my first attempt at this poem out loud and at filming so forgive me if you will if it's a bit off :) I will be performing tomorrow at Liverpool Poetry Slam, if I don't freeze up of course ;)

I was born out of a number,Faces defining my world,and I've always been inclined to cumberthe distress I witness at this berthagainst the figure.

Yes, the figure that is and is not,because I have no culture, no heart, nor home.I am something light tricks to be, an illusion of diversity,the colour of your teething bone,the greatest profanitybeing humanity,I am much less-the unfortunate- the unknown.

Words are nothing without your lips,and spite can't see without some tongue.So being human cannot reasonwithout some puncture to the lung.

If there is a God he is not here,the reliance of invisibilityis one to mean unintelligibly cowardliness of fear.

You want the air, to take care of what you said was your own will.

You want new souls to suffer for an ancient bill.

You want me to stand and say I am sorry for something I haven't done,

when you're the one,who is ticking the times tables incorrectly.

Today will be tomorrow and soon after the great past,

If you don't want historyto be seeded in miserythen you should stand out and make it last.

I was born out of a number,mathematically spiralled into life,and so far I still find it a struggleto understand the joy of waking.

To be born is to be alone,To live is to be surrounded,To die is to be free,but for that you must work first.

And I don't barter with this curse,

if there is nothing- I may as well exist a little first.

But what I can't compose is how I see these faces,

where others separate by numbers, words and races,I only see one in the mirror: